of hope and promise on dragonwings
by Thistlerose
Summary: I know it's crazy, but I always liked Mirrim. Yes, she's a brat, but she's also the first female green rider in two thousand years! I can't imagine the other weyrlings made things easy for her. Note: this story is completely unrelated to my AU.


The Hatching Banquet was far from over, but Path was so exhausted she'd begun to slump, and Mirrim, still dizzied by the day's events, found that she too longed for sleep. So she said goodnight to Menolly and, dragon and fire-lizards following closely, she made her way across the Bowl to the weyrling barracks.

She found them well lit and occupied. Two boys sat cross-legged on the floor, their dragons – a green and a blue – sleeping beside them. They were playing a game of cards, but they looked up when Mirrim entered.

"Feast still going on?" asked the one with the blue. Mirrim recognized him as Randalon. R'lon, rather.

"I don't know," she replied. "I don't think so. Do you mind dimming those glows some? I want to sleep."

The boy with the green – B'sum – snorted. "So go find a spot in the Lower Caverns. That's where girls belong."

"But this is where young _dragons_ belong," said Mirrim, indicating Path at her side.

"That was obviously a mistake," B'sum said coldly. "Anyway, I'll not share my weyr with a girl."

A number of angry retorts rose to Mirrim's lips, but she forgot all of them when Path, roused by the insult to her rider, squealed loudly. _I did not make a mistake! _the dragonet insisted with surprising vehemence. _I did not make a mistake!_

"Here now," said R'lon irritably. "You're bothering my Horroth."

"That's because _you_ bothered my—"

"Go away, girl," B'sum said, rising and planting himself only a foot from Mirrim. He was taller than she was, and heavy-set. She couldn't get around him.

"Fine," she said flatly. "But you'll pay for this, the pair of you. I hope – oh, I hope your dragons mate! I hope it's as wild a flight as ever there was, and I hope you end up stuck with each other."

Behind B'sum, R'lon blanched, clearly disturbed by the prospect. But then he said, his dark eyes flashing maliciously, "Or maybe my Horroth will fly your Path. I'll put you in your place, girl. The sooner the better, I think, for you clearly don't know a girl's place."

Outraged, her face once again aflame, Mirrim would have plowed right past B'sum and tackled him to the ground. But Path caught the hem of her skirt between her teeth and tugged insistently. The fire-lizards too were intent on forestalling a fight. They swooped in front of Mirrim's face, fluttering their wings quickly, their tiny eyes whirling orange. Their commotion roused blue Horroth and B'sum's green, which distracted the boys.

Mirrim turned and ran. As soon as she was clear of the barracks, she burst into tears. Crooning agitatedly, Path stumbled after her. They stopped at the lake. The wind made tiny waves, which shimmered in the light of Pern's two moons.

Mirrim stood there for a long time, her shoulders bowed, her fists clenched in her skirts. Hot, angry tears stung her eyes and rolled down her cheeks. In a vain attempt to cheer her, the fire-lizards turned graceful flips and dives. Path leaned against her shin and thought loving thoughts.

Behind her, a woman said, "Mirrim?"

"Go away, Brekke. Please." The roughness of her own voice annoyed her; she didn't want her foster-mother to know she'd been crying like a child. Was still crying.

"Sweeting, I just wanted to say—"

"Go _away!_ I just want to be _alone._"

"Mirrim, you have three fire-lizards, and you've Impressed a dragon. You'll never be alone again."

Incredibly, there was no pain or envy in Brekke's tone. That she who had lost her dragon, her lovely golden Wirenth, could be supportive, could be happy for Mirrim – just made things worse.

"Please," Mirrim whispered.

A man spoke up for the first time. "Brekke, you go back to the feast. I'll talk to her. I think I can figure out what's wrong."

_The woman is leaving,_ said Path. _She is right. You will never be alone._

"Mirrim," said the man, and she realized that it was T'gellan. "Weyrlings giving you some trouble?"

Mirrim pursed her lips and refused to look at him or answer. If he had any romantic ideas about striding into the weyrling barracks and chastising R'lon and B'sum, he had better forget them quickly. She didn't want help – certainly not from a bronze rider whom the boys had to follow and respect in any case. She could handle them. She just needed to compose herself.

"Look," he said, "it's not common knowledge, even among weyrfolk, but there _was_ a time, a _long_ time ago, when girls rode fighting dragons. You're only the first in hundreds, maybe even thousands of Turns."

"That's supposed to make me feel _better_?" Mirrim sniffed.

"It's supposed to educate you, my girl. You're not some sort of aberration."

"Oh, _good._"

"Mirrim."

She gasped when his hands clasped her shoulders. She hadn't even heard him approach. _You might have warned me,_ she told Path.

The little beast looked up at her innocently.

"Don't fight me, Mirrim," T'gellan said. "Don't fight what you are. You've plenty of spirit, girl, and you'll need it all when young Path there is ready to fight Thread. Monarth says you'll fly well. There, you see? Mirrim? Are you crying?" His grip tightened and, ignoring her protest, he whirled her around to face him. "I knew it. Who's giving you grief? Which weyrling?"

She shook her head frantically. She didn't want this. What was she supposed to say, anyway? That two idiot boys had reduced her to tears?

T'gellan sighed and his grip slackened. "Monarth just told me to lay off. Says you have enough on your plate at present. I suppose he's right. You know Lessa's going to want a word or two with you."

"Monarth is right," said Mirrim, blinking rapidly to expel the last of her tears. "You can let me go now. I'm not going to jump in the lake and drown myself. I'll manage. I always have. And – I'm not really unhappy. Just – overwhelmed, I suppose. The hatching and – and everything. You mustn't think I'm unhappy. I have Path now. How could I possibly be unhappy?" Aware that her tone had acquired a slightly hysterical edge, she stopped.

T'gellan looked at her thoughtfully for a moment, then glanced down at Path. He smiled. "She's a beauty, truly. Like spring leaves. And she's clearly a strong-willed lady, who doesn't let anyone limit her choices."

Path preened.

_Oh, you,_ thought Mirrim to her dragon. To T'gellan she said, "You charmer. And her, so young and impressionable." She had to laugh at her unintended pun.

T'gellan's grin broadened. "You did well for yourself today, Mirrim. Just be strong."

"I will. Tomorrow. Right now, Path and I want to sleep." She extricated herself from his grasp and gestured to her dragon. "Come, love. All my things are in the Lower Caverns, anyway."

"Why are you going to the Lower Caverns?" T'gellan asked.

"Well, it's where the girls sleep. And we – my dragon and I – are girls."

"You're a weyrling," said T'gellan. "And belong in the barracks."

"Tomorrow night, perhaps. I – I just prefer – for tonight, anyway—"

A strange look crossed T'gellan's face. He cocked his head, raised his eyebrows. "Oh, indeed?" he said, and Mirrim knew he was addressing his dragon. "Shall I tell her that?"

"What?" demanded Mirrim. "What did he say?"

Regarding her candidly, T'gellan said, "Monarth wishes me to inform you that there's room in _his_ weyr for one slim girl and one baby dragon."

Mirrim laughed. "Oh, yes! As if I hadn't set enough tongues wagging. What would everyone say if they saw me emerge from your weyr tomorrow morning?"

"That I'm generous, self-sacrificing—"

"Ha!"

"Well, it's your choice."

"It's my reputation."

"Mirrim, I swear—" T'gellan placed his hand over his heart. "On my honor as a dragonman…"

He meant it, she thought. He really would allow her to sleep in his weyr, and defend her honor afterward. Not that there was likely to be much gossip. Weyrgirls younger than Mirrim – though not _that_ much younger – bounced in and out of dragonmen's weyrs, and little enough was said. Though she'd been raised by the sexually conservative Brekke, Mirrim had never been troubled by the promiscuity she often witnessed. Not that she herself had ever… But T'gellan was handsome. And kind. And funny. If any man was to be her first—

But that wasn't what T'gellan was offering. He meant for her to sleep in his bed with Path, while he bedded down with Monarth. Of course. He was her _friend._

_I like him_, Path said drowsily.

"Thank you," said Mirrim swiftly. "But – no, I'll sleep in the Lower Caverns with the other women tonight. And tomorrow, I'll deal with those weyrlings. And Lessa." After all, she told herself, she'd dealt with Kylara at Southern Weyr – and a couple of idiotic, ill-mannered boys hardly compared with that evil bitch. She would prevail. She'd be twice the dragonrider that pimply R'lon fancied himself. And she would never allow his blue to fly her lovely Path. "Path and I are so sleepy," she went on. "I couldn't carry her all the way up the stairs, and I doubt she could manage them on her own."

_I could. Maybe. He could carry me._

What was that look on T'gellan's face now? Not disappointment. Not relief. "Well, good night then, Mirrim. Good night, Path, Tolly, Reppa, Lok. Monarth says good night as well." He executed a neat bow.

Mirrim turned quickly so he wouldn't see her blush, gathered her skirts, and started toward the Lower Caverns, her dragon at her side.

3/1/2008


End file.
